After informing Li Niyue about the Soul Hall, Jingxuan returns to the division he is guarding.

The fort is secured, and the generals order a three-day rest to repair, recover, and wait for reinforcements.

During this time, Jingxuan’s duty remains the same—to protect the troops from dark sun realm warlocks. But with no such threat, he finally turns his focus inward.

He finds an empty stone chamber, clears it with a gust of wind, and sits cross-legged on the cold floor.

His breath steadies, and soon, his body begins to petrify. The change starts from his skin, spreading to his muscles and bones until even his heart begins to harden.

The heart beats faster, blood surging as it resists the petrification.

The blood energy clashes violently with the invading earth element, a battle between two equal forces.

As his Earth Demon Body refining technique reaches its seventh stage’s limit, the blood—already fused with traces of the earth element—begins to change.

The clash refines both forces.

For a brief moment, the foreign earth energy is stripped to its pure form, and his blood absorbs it, growing denser, more vibrant, almost metallic in sheen.

The process repeats—petrification spreading, blood pushing back—until finally, the stone fades, and his skin returns to living flesh.

When Jingxuan opens his inner sight, he sees his blood flowing like molten gold beneath his veins.

His physical defence doubles, his lifespan extends by fifty years, and his control over sand and stone deepens—from mere manipulation to shaping them like extensions of his will.

He exhales softly and vanishes from the room, his body flashing through the thick wall of the fort like dust passing through the wind.

A moment later, he appears high in the air, suspended above the fort, the morning light glinting off his hardened skin as the stones beneath tremble faintly—responding to his will.

Jingxuan hovers in the air, gazing down at the fort and the mountains that cradle it.

His sharp eyes trace the terrain—the valley cupped between three towering peaks.

One passage cuts toward a raging river whose foam glitters like molten glass under the sun, another is the path their army took to reach this place, and the last leads deeper into the endless storm-shrouded mountains.

He narrows his eyes.

The fort below stands firm yet small, its worn walls and fractured towers showing scars from countless battles.

A faint idea stirs in his mind. He decides this will be the ground to test his newly refined control.

His voice echoes across the fort like rolling thunder. “Everyone, leave the fortress.”

Confusion spreads among the soldiers.

They exchange glances, murmuring uncertainly, but the authority in his tone allows no refusal.

One by one, the troops and officers stream out of the fort, retreating to the valley’s edge, their armour clinking in the silence.

When the last soldier clears the gate, Jingxuan raises his hand.

The air around him vibrates faintly, then the stones beneath the valley begin to tremble. Dust rises, sand swirls, and fragments of rock lift into the air as if drawn by invisible threads.

Under his will, the sand and stone flow toward the fort like rivers of molten earth.

The shattered walls drink in the material, cracks sealing, towers reforging, the once-worn structure reshaping itself with a deep rumble that echoes across the valley.

The ground quakes as if the mountain itself breathes again.

When the tremors settle, Jingxuan lands lightly before the renewed fortress. “This fort can house a thousand men,” he murmurs to himself, eyes reflecting the rising stone spires. “But if it can hold ten times that number, the invasion will move faster.”

At his unspoken command, the earth surges once more.

To the astonished soldiers at the valley’s edge, the sight is overwhelming—boulders lift from the mountainsides, sand streams like smoke into the structure, and walls expand outward.

The fortress swells, consuming more of the valley floor, spreading from thirty per cent to over half its span.

Its height climbs from three stories to five, watchtowers rising like spears into the sky. The outer walls thicken, glowing faintly with the pulse of earth energy.

New battlements form overlooking each passage, and stone towers grow along the cliffs to watch the river path below.

By the time the last stone settles, the once-ordinary fort has transformed into a citadel—an earth-forged bastion standing proud between the mountains, alive beneath Jingxuan’s silent command.

The next day, as dawn mist clings to the mountains, the rebel army emerges from the forest, drums echoing through the valley.

But when they reach the ridge and see what stands before them, silence grips their ranks.

Where a small fort once rested, now towers a colossal fortress of stone and steel—five stories high, with walls gleaming faintly under the sun and arrow towers bristling like fangs.

The rebel commanders stare in disbelief, unsure if their scouts had mistaken the place.

Even the warlocks among them exchange uneasy glances.

Still, orders are orders.

The front ranks advance hesitantly toward the gates.

Before they even close half the distance, the fortress awakens.

From its walls erupts a rain of arrows, hundreds of streaking shafts hissing through the air.

The first volley cuts down the front line before they can raise their shields. The next wave turns their formation into chaos.

Cries echo through the valley as the survivors scramble backwards, tripping over the fallen.

Warlocks of the rebel army step forward, casting blazing spells that streak toward the fortress. Explosions rock the outer walls, smoke rising—but when the haze clears, the stone still stands unscarred. The walls hum faintly with a deep, earthen resonance.

Higher-ranked warlocks—those of the Moon and Dark Sun Realms—grit their teeth and join the assault.

Their combined attacks darken the sky, but before their spells land, a figure descends from the clouds above.

Jingxuan.

Earth and wind spiral around him as he moves like lightning, intercepting the Dark Sun warlock mid-spell.

Their clash sends shockwaves through the air, shattering the rebels’ morale.

From the fortress walls, allied Moon Realm warlocks join the battle, their spells weaving through the air with precise coordination.

Within an hour, the rebel army is in full retreat.

Bodies litter the valley floor, and smoke trails behind them as they flee into the mountain pass, too shaken to look back at the fortress that defied them.

Three days later, a supply caravan from the headquarters arrives.

The soldiers escorting it stop in their tracks the moment the fortress comes into view.

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Their jaws drop at the sight of the massive structure stretching across half the valley.

When they ask how such a thing came to be, the garrisoned troops can only point toward the sky. “Commander Ji built it… in one night.”

By the time the convoy returns to headquarters, the tale has already spread through every camp and regiment.

A fortress raised overnight—by a single man.

Two days later, Jingxuan stands within the towering fortress as Xu Shiyi and Princess Li Niyue arrive, their boots echoing faintly against the stone floor.

Soldiers outside pause their work, watching with awe as the empire’s envoy and its princess step into the citadel that one man had forged.

Inside the meeting hall, Xu Shiyi wastes no time.

“Commander Ji, we’ve come with a request,” he says, his tone measured but expectant. “We want you to build fortresses like this at the other two strategic locations we’ve captured.”

Jingxuan’s brows knit together. He remains silent for a moment, then exhales slowly. “I can’t,” he says finally.

Xu Shiyi tilts his head. “Can’t—or won’t?”

Jingxuan looks up, his expression tight. “To build this fortress, I consumed all the weird energy I’d refined. Until I recover, I won’t be able to construct another like it.”

Xu Shiyi’s gaze sharpens. “Then, is there a way for you to recover faster?”

“Yes,” Jingxuan says. “Earth-element spiritual resources. If I absorb their energy, I can restore my strength quickly.”

Xu Shiyi nods, already thinking ahead. “Then you’ll have them. As much as you need. But I expect both fortresses to be completed within two weeks.”

The tone leaves no room for refusal. He turns on his heel and leaves, his robes brushing against the stone as the door closes behind him.

Only Jingxuan and Li Niyue remain. The tension in the room softens, the weight of command replaced by something quieter.

Niyue looks at him, her voice calm but laced with concern. “I sent the message about the Soul Hall back to the capital.”

Jingxuan’s eyes flash with focus. “Did you receive any reply? Any clue about them?”

She shakes her head. “No news. The palace hasn’t responded.”

Jingxuan’s shoulders stiffen. He knows that ending the rebellion means nothing if the Soul Hall—the hidden hand guiding it—remains untouched. “If we can destroy them,” he mutters, “this entire war will collapse overnight.”

Niyue’s gaze lingers on him a moment longer, unreadable. Then she nods lightly and leaves the chamber, her steps fading down the corridor.

When silence returns, Jingxuan sits cross-legged on the cold stone floor. His breathing slows as he sinks into meditation, and the Earth Demon Body Refining Technique activates once more.

His skin hardens, turning to stone, then softens again—flesh and earth merging and separating in rhythm.

The fortress hums softly around Jingxuan, pulsing in rhythm with his breath, the living stone answering its master’s will. As he sinks deeper into meditation, the world outside moves toward new schemes and silent wars.

A day later, far from the fortress, Ju Funan kneels inside a mirror-like void, his reflection rippling across the glassy surface of the Soul Hall’s meeting space. Before him, the three Elders of the Hall sit on high thrones of shadowed light, their faces blurred by divine mist.

Ju Funan bows low. “Elders, Ji Jingxuan has built a fortress capable of housing ten thousand soldiers within mere hours. It stands in the valley near the rapid river. Within two weeks, he plans to raise two more—one here and one at Thunderstone Cliff.”

The Left Elder’s voice is sharp, cutting through the echoing silence. “So, what do you seek from us?”

Ju Funan keeps his head down. “To eliminate him before he finishes. If he completes even one more fortress, it will be impossible for me to lose the war.”

The three Elders exchange a glance, faint flickers of power passing between their eyes. Finally, the Central Elder speaks, calm yet cold. “You need not worry. The Dark River faction has already entered the Thunderstorm Mountains. They await our command to strike. I will send the order now.”

Ju Funan presses his forehead to the reflective floor. “May the Soul Hall be eternal.”

His image dissolves, vanishing from the mirror realm.

That same day, deep in the mountain range, Wenrui and his team trek along a narrow trail, their task simple yet sacred—to bury the divine posts that anchor the empire’s spiritual defences.

But as they move through the misty pass, the air thickens unnaturally. A pale fog rises from the ground, swirling until it closes them off in every direction.

Wenrui’s expression darkens. “A mist barrier,” he warns sharply. “This is the Demon Hall’s doing.”

The words barely leave his mouth before the attack begins. Shadows emerge from the fog—Demon Hall assassins clad in black, their warlock marks glowing faintly beneath the haze.

Five Moon Realm warlocks lead the ambush. Four break off, summoning their puppets to clash with Xia He, while the fifth advances toward Wenrui, his aura surging like a tidal wave.

The array suppresses the demonic power inside Wenrui, just as the Demon Hall’s intelligence predicted.

They believe he is no stronger than a peak Warlock Realm cultivator without borrowing the ancient demon’s might.

But their knowledge is outdated.

Wenrui’s muscles swell and twist as his body surges upward, his form expanding into that of a small giant.

The ground cracks beneath his feet.

A dense, invisible force field swirls around his fist as he smashes through the Moon Realm warlock’s spell, scattering the fragments of the attack like shattered glass.

After Jingxuan’s guidance, Wenrui had built his mindspace within his spirit space—a complete world born from his own will—and from it, he broke through the barrier that once defined the limits of National Martial Arts.

He called this new realm the Small Heavenly Realm, for within it, his spirit space acts as a miniature world, and his will stands as the heavenly law that governs it.

He has already glimpsed the next step beyond.

To advance further, he must make his spirit world resonate with his physical world—his body, a realm of its own.

Yet his flesh remains too weak to reveal that hidden world fully. So he must strengthen it, refine it, until the two can merge and his spirit and body become one unified existence.

His current transformation—the eight-foot-tall form born of Giantism—is the first echo of that resonance.

His physique, already beyond mortal limits, allows him to channel the power of both worlds into raw physical might.

The stronger his body grows, the larger his form will become.

But even now, this strength is enough.

The mist quakes around him as he steps forward, his massive silhouette looming through the fog.

The Moon Realm warlock braces, eyes wide, realising too late that the man before him is no longer bound by the limits of mortals.

Wenrui lifts his fist, the force field humming around it like thunder. “Let’s end this.”

Two days later, Wenrui and his group emerge from the mountains, their boots crunching over wet stone and ash.

Their steps falter as their eyes widen—where once stood a battered, half-collapsed fort now rises a massive fortress of stone and steel, towering like a mountain in itself.

After confirming its allegiance, they step through the heavy gates.

Inside, soldiers rush in organised lines, banners of the empire fluttering above the parapets.

Wenrui listens to the murmurs around him—how Commander Ji Jingxuan had built the fortress in mere hours, how the Princess herself now resides within its walls.

The news twists like a knife in his chest.

Though he tries to hide it, his heart clenches.

The princess’s wedding is only weeks away, and the thought of facing her again feels unbearable.

Yet he must—her secret order to bury the divine posts came from her directly.

He decides to wait for the right moment to slip away from his group and meet her quietly. But before he can, Xia He steps beside him and says, “Let’s go meet the Princess.”

Wenrui blinks, caught off guard. “Why?”

Xia He hesitates, his gaze flickering. After a long pause, he finally says, “I want her help to meet Jingxuan.”

The name makes Wenrui’s expression stiffen. He exhales slowly, then turns to the others. “Xia He wants to meet the Princess. I’m taking him. You all go ahead and stock up on supplies.”

His team nods and disperses, leaving the two behind. Wenrui and Xia He make their way through the bustling fortress, asking the guards for directions.

Soon, they reach the section reserved for the royal quarters—where Li Niyue, the woman who once smiled only for him, now awaits as the future bride of another man.

Xia He bows deeply and explains his request. Li Niyue listens in silence, her gaze flickering briefly toward Wenrui before she nods. “Alright,” she says softly, “I’ll take you to him.”

She leads them through several corridors, the air heavy with a faint pressure leaking from the fortress’s core.

They stop before a thick metal door at the heart of the stronghold—a door few are allowed to approach.

Inside, Jingxuan sits cross-legged in his retreat chamber, a faint grey-gold glow swirling around him.

The Dragon Stone before him releases waves of strange, dense energy that twist through the air like smoke, sinking into his body and bones.

It is the same weird energy that once formed the fortress itself, and now it helps him advance rapidly toward the peak of stage eight of the Earth Demon Body Refining Technique.

With the vast amount of rare materials sent by the court, his progress moves at an astonishing pace.

The deep rumble of his flesh and the faint tremor of the ground around him show how violently his body refines the weird energy.

A sudden knock breaks the silence. Jingxuan’s eyes open, sharp and steady, a faint trace of strange light flashing across them.

He releases a thin strand of perception, immediately sensing the princess, Wenrui, and another man.

“Let them wait in the living room,” he says calmly, his voice echoing through the sealed room.

His retreat chamber is part of a small residence built within the fortress—a complete structure with a living room, kitchen, dining area, office, and this sealed cultivation room.

As Jingxuan stands and gathers the swirling weird energy back into his core, his expression remains unreadable, but the faint distortion in the air around him betrays the immense force coiled beneath his calm.

In the living room, he meets them and sits across from the three. “What brings you here?” Jingxuan asks, his tone even.

Li Niyue glances toward Xia He. “Xia He wants to speak with you.”

Xia He rises and bows respectfully. “I, Xia He from the Puppet Hall, greet you, Commander.”

Jingxuan studies the man beside Wenrui, his eyes sharp. “Why do you want to meet me?”

Xia He answers solemnly, “Commander, do you still have the core of the mid-level Thunder Spider?”

Jingxuan nods slightly.

Relief flashes across Xia He’s face. “I wish to trade for it. I have three items of equal value to the Thunder Spider’s core.”

Jingxuan leans back, thoughtful. The Thunder Spider Core has long gathered dust in his collection, and he happens to need a Water-attribute core for his next refinement.

Since Xia He hails from the Puppet Hall in the frozen wastelands north of the empire—where such cores are plentiful—the trade might be worthwhile.

“I need a Water-attribute core,” Jingxuan says finally. “I don’t care about its level, but it must be a special grade.”

Xia He nods quickly. “One of the three items is the core of an Ice Hell Spider—mid-level and special grade.”

“Good,” Jingxuan replies, standing. “Wait here. I’ll bring the Thunder Spider’s core.”

Moments later, he returns with the glittering core, lightning still faintly flickering within it.

They exchange items, and after a brief word of thanks, Jingxuan dismisses his guests.

He returns to his retreat room and holds the Ice Hell Spider Core in his hand.

Frost breathes across his palm as cold energy seeps into the air. Sitting cross-legged, he begins the refinement process.

The metal shell of the core unravels under his will, and deep within his spirit space, the first moon spirit manifests, drawing in the cold, weird energy and merging it into its essence.

The chamber hums faintly as Jingxuan’s aura grows sharper, colder, and more controlled.